


Nothing To Declare

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Art Inspired, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing to talk about, nothing to say. Sunder wouldn't bother to ask, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing To Declare

**Author's Note:**

> Short ficlet based entirely around [this picture by f1ukemeister24](http://f1ukemeister24.tumblr.com/post/136228192082/froid-has-such-a-rung-complex-its-an-obsession) (NSFW). Nothing special, but just something I wanted to write after being inspired by the picture.
> 
> Spoilers for recent MTMTE issues.
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/136859289728/nothing-to-declare-baneberry-the-transformers): because a reblog is always appreciated! （●>ω・）ﾉ

Froid had no regrets. No secrets, no shame, no hidden memories locked away in a safe, stowed in the deepest, darkest reaches of his mind. There was nothing he had that Sunder could take.

Sunder, however, had no interest in Froid, simply because the mech was... well, bland. Because he had no real sorrows or horrible secrets to keep and hide from the world, he was of no interest to Sunder. He had no "flavor."

That was not to say Froid was completely upfront about everything. He knew it, Sunder knew it; so easy to exploit, but not anymore. Sunder might have tried niggling, but he, too, had a soft spot.

Sunder had Sceptre, and likewise, Froid had Rung. Their relationships, however, differed completely. Sceptre had been a friend, a brother; Sunder's loyal amica endura and partner in crime. Rung had been a pest, a thorn, a hindrance, and an begrudging colleague. But that didn't matter; Sunder respected Froid in this manner, in so much that Froid had enough of a mental grasp on Sunder to not mock or pry him about it. Sceptre was Sunder's weak point, and a bit of a safeword in their complicated relationship.

So maybe it was a shameful secret. Froid didn't even know what to call it. A bad habit, he supposed. He never really thought about it that much, because it would only aggravate him. So whatever the reason, Froid sometimes found himself masturbating to thoughts of his old rival and enemy, Rung.

Oh, there was no love. There'd never been any love between them. They liked each other once, so many eons ago; they'd even considered each other friends. But that time was long past, and nothing remained but bitter memories that Froid never dismissed, but never really paid much attention to. He accepted them. Sunder could dig around them all he wanted; they wouldn't amount to very much, and there'd be little sustenance for the insane criminal to snack on.

Froid didn't even find Rung particularly attractive. He had a freak's alt mode--rare, but even more so by the fact he had no distinguishable second form. He was an enigma to the senate, and just all around plain and boring and so damn persistent. But maybe it was because Rung had been the only mech to ever openly challenge Froid--to ever try and fight him and his beliefs; to ever stand up to him, and actually make him _think_ about his aforementioned beliefs that made him stand out to Froid.

Rung was dull and diminutive, but even the most base and simple of people can have their charm.

Froid settled in for the night on his and Sunder's spaceship, leaving Scarvix for the first time in years. They retired to their own quarters for the night once coordinates were set, ship placed on auto-pilot. 

Froid unpacked, and though he hadn't thought of doing anything festive the first night on board, he uncovered Rung.

Well, not _the_ Rung. A dildo. Quite fitting, not only because it was orange, short, and lumpy. It was simple looking, but it had three speeds--each very powerful in their own right. But Froid mostly named it Rung because of the orange lumpy texture, really.

After considering a moment, Froid invented and... Well, why not? The view of the stars outside his window was magnificent. He needed a break, anyway; he'd been hustling and bustling all day, finishing up with clients and preparing for the trip out with Sunder. Sunder, who had to be smuggled and snuck on board; no one on Scarvix knew the ex-mnemosurgeon was alive, let alone in Froid's charge. And Froid covered Sunder's tracks very, very well.

Froid sat down on the edge of his bed, covered by a soft insulated blanket, looking out at the vast darkness of space. He got comfortable, adjusting a bit; his panel snapped open, and he invented sharply, closing his optics. Froid hooked two fingers slowly into his channel, rising up; he moved at a simple pace, flexing digits against the mesh walls in between massaging anterior nodes.

Froid's venting picked up a little. He kept his optics firmly closed. As lubricant began to well around his scissoring fingers, he started imagining himself back in his office on Cybertron. Arguing with Rung, per usual, and Rung was getting angry. He raised his voice, yelling heatedly, matching the hitching pulses of Froid's spark.

The way his scrawny body went tense, hands gesticulating in a fury; the sharp glow of his glasses, a show of teeth behind his frowning, strained lips. The heat rising from his EM field. In the fantasy, Froid sat composed and quiet at his desk, but here, now, Froid was trembling, breathing harshly, biolights flickering. He pumped his fingers inside his channel, knuckle deep; lubricant started to pool between his legs, outer folds aroused and engorged.

Rung was simply berating and lecturing him. Nothing more, nothing less. But Froid was coming undone all the same, barely whispering out Rung's name, while his fantasy self remained absolutely silent and stoic. Froid's fingers moved faster, prying; he sat forward limply, groaning deep in his throat. A vibration ran through his humming engine.

Rung reached a hand out to Froid, and that's when the fantasy stopped.

Froid opened his optics, fingers withdrawing. He sat there a moment, frazzled, the charge still building in his chest. Prepped properly, Froid clumsily reached back and grabbed the dildo. He yanked off the wireless remote attached to its base. With thoughts of Rung still yelling, still shaking in his head, Froid laid back, positioning himself. He teased himself by running the dildo in languid, slow strokes along his folds, once against an anterior node.

Shuddering, Froid closed his optics and concentrated again. As the dildo slipped inside, it went smoothly, naturally; little by little his channel swallowed the orange toy, nearly taking it to the hilt. Froid thumbed at the buttons on the remote without looking--he knew them all by instinct--and debated on how long this session would last.

Slow and sensual? Rough and quick? Or hard and lasting?

Froid smirked. He punched the button, and just as the toy turned on with a powerful whir, Rung lunged on top of Froid and pinned him on the ground, yanking aside his codpiece and ruthlessly digging his fingers into his channel. It didn't hurt; at least, the image did not match reality. The speed of the dildo had come as a shock, but it didn't hurt. It pulsed and rippled, nailing ceiling nodes much in the way Rung's fingers were.

"O-Oh! R... Rung!" Froid moaned loudly. He fell back on an elbow, shuddering; chest rising and falling heavily. He clutched at the chained optics dangling from his neck, vaguely wondering if Sunder could see what was happening. That thought passed quickly when Rung forced his channel apart, wide as it could get, to thrust his unit inside of him. (And Rung really should be flattered--Froid's Rung was much more... well-endowed than the real thing, he was sure.)

Froid threw his head back. He could hear the low, hyper buzzing of the dildo, beating against his channel walls. He rode into the ripples, hips bucking and twitching. "R... Rung, y-yes... yes..." He mumbled, cracking an eye open. His fingers tightened around the necklace and the two unblinking, azure blue optics. Rung was pummeling Froid into the ground, squeezing his hips, denting metal. "Ah, Rung! Y-Yes!"

With one shaky hand, Froid pushed away the rest of his pelvic armor, sighing in relief when his pressurized unit sprung free. Transfluid beaded at the slit, and he idly wiped it off, smearing it on the blanket beneath him. The dildo settled for a moment--and in fantasy, it was Rung taking a second to catch his breathing--then started up again. Hard, swift, and Froid howled out Rung's name, ripping off the necklace. Not that he noticed, or even cared.

Froid laid back again, digging his fingers into the soft material of the blanket, around the chain and optics. He looked down at himself, optics bright and narrowed. He could almost imagine Rung kneeling between his legs, his mouth wrapped around his unit, sucking the very damn life out of him. "Nn, Rung..." Froid whimpered, warmth blossoming up and down his backstrut before pooling in his groin.

"Harder, harder...!" Froid grabbed his unit, tugging fiercely. He yelped; no, no, it was Rung's hand. It was Rung jerking him off while thrusting inside of him. "Ah, y-yes! Harder!" He curled forward, struts tensing; he pumped his unit clumsily, so desperate and hungry and fantasizing could only do so much. He started rolling his hips, pushing down on the dildo, forcing the vibrating toy inside a few more inches. "Y-Yes! Yes!"

Froid fell back. Rung was pushing him down on the bed. Riding his unit while reaching back between Froid's legs and fucking him with his fingers. He could almost feel Rung's own channel tightly clenched around his unit, and squeezed it to simulate the sensation. It worked well enough, and overload was quick approaching.

Froid whimpered loudly. "Please--ah, frag, please...!" He squeezed his optics shut, coolant prickling the edges. Rung stared down at him, unimpressed, while he added a third finger into Froid's channel. "Frag, y-yes! Yes, Rung! P-Please!" He wanted more, needed more, swaying his hips, rolling the dildo inside of him. It pressed up against a ceiling node, and Froid squeaked. "Yes! T-There! Please!"

He was so close, so close. Froid drew a hand to his vocoder, sobbing. A wonderful, growing burst of pleasure, so overwhelming he nearly choked on his cries. "Rung! _Please_!" he wailed, and all at once, Rung smiled, slammed down one last time--

Froid slowly opened his optics, still trembling. He looked down; unit depressurized, dildo still working inside his channel. Transfluid spilled out along his chest, up his torso, between his thighs and on the blanket.

What a mess.

Froid grunted, snatching the remote and switching it off. He sighed when the dildo came to a dead halt. Transfluid freely dripped from around its edges, his folds fluttering slightly.

Froid looked up, and Rung was gone. "Good riddance," he grumbled, bitterly wiping transfluid from off his cockpit.

Nothing to talk about, nothing to say. Sunder wouldn't bother to ask, anyway.


End file.
